


Shed Your Winter Coat

by TheOneWithTheBlue



Category: The Used
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Does This Count As Sad?, Fairy Tale Curses, Harpies, King of Broken Things, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Sad?, Shapeshifting, Skeletons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-27 22:47:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13890753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneWithTheBlue/pseuds/TheOneWithTheBlue
Summary: A King needs a throne and a kingdom. His soul needs a spark.A rabbit needs a home. A man needs a friend.





	1. Summer Coat

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't go where I was expecting it to go.

It was when he stopped keeping track of the yearly snowfalls that he declared himself the King of Broken Things.

What need did the king have for snow, for time? Wrapped up in his own kingdom, he could change the time if he pleased. He was the King. It never worked correctly anyway, and the preening figures lounging by his throne had no use for time beyond the seconds it took them to begin the King's satisfaction when he clicked the fleshless fingers of his right hand, bone clacking together.

'Stupid things,' thought the King one morning, watching the jagged horns on her head bob up and down, threatening to slice his skin as she pleasured him, her clawed fingers poking through his jeans to hook around his exposed right femur. 'They probably wouldn't even understand time if I tried to explain it.' The King understood it. He understood everything; that was why he was king. He could have sworn those horns had been beautiful and whole once, swirling like a ram's. Another broken thing to rule. Broken like him, to match with his missing skin, his eyes drained of colour and left white.

His throne was pieced together from mismatched bones and split leather, cracked wooden frame adorned with bodiless skulls. Each time he moved too swiftly or his back pressed roughly against it the springs slashed holes in his clothing and for that he was proud, often shoving his hands in the gaps and ripping them wider. He had spent an awfully long time finding the materials and completed the work himself. Such silly things as the winged blue creatures could never be trusted to construct a seat fit for a king. They were only good for pleasing him, keeping him entertained in their little kingdom, endless skies delivering bundles of dysfunctional treasure to add to the mountains of it that made up his home.

He sometimes wondered why he was the only one capable of thought in all of his junkyard kingdom. Why was he there? Was he broken too? He must have been; A palace like his deserved a malfunctioning ruler. It kept him awake during the nights as he reclined in his seat, blue harpies banished from sight until he had a use for them. Were there others? Had they abandoned him there like a shattered bulb? He thought back on the moment his loneliness had struck when the sky stopped delivering the winter wishes he made.

********************************************

When the cold came it brought a blessing. The night sky opened her diamond eye and saw his prayers, bestowed a kindness upon him to ease the cruel season as it descended over the world of unwanted trinkets and its young guardian. He wished for warmth in the first winter; he was gifted moth-eaten blankets of wool from the heavens. His fourth winter, The Boy asked for a soft embrace; the moon brought him a fuzzy stuffed creature with holes of white fluff where its eyes once were. He could have cried with happiness as his little friend had a frost coloured gaze to match his. A telescope for the lens he scavenged, a thin length of soft string and a tiny harness for his stuffed friend to join him on walks, a hood for a jacket, ink to match the machine with the needles and a steady hand to run it through his skin. The moon was always kind to him.

His bones had begun to ache from the dropping temperatures, exposed to the elements with no flesh to guard them. He was thankful that at least the right arm and left leg were covered. The Broken Boy stared as she rose on the eve of the fifteenth snowfall. For the first time, he found himself wishing for something strange, her silver light drawing a whisper from his dry lips. 

“Bring me one,” he begged, breath rising in icy clouds. “Bring me one like me. Don't leave me alone this time.” Her presence washed over him like a warm breeze, urging him to sleep, to wait for the morning when his wish would greet him as it did every year.

He awoke to a world unchanged. No mirror of himself lay beside him, no companion with whom he could speak, no other like him to keep him happy and warm in the difficult months to come. He sat in the cold and waited, eyes on the boring old harpies circling above like always, hoping for the moon to bring his wish. Perhaps his ask had been large that year, he reasoned with himself, and she simply needed more time to bring it to him. For so long he waited, trusting, hoping, praying. As the weather warmed the ice found a home in his heart. The sweeter the air full of spring became, the more bitter his soul. The sun awakened for the seasons of warmth and the Boy became the Broken King of Broken Things.

*******************************************

The screeches of the harpies alerted him to a change, countless winters later. Rejection of the moon left him drained with each year that passed, hair heavy with grease and skin streaked with dirt where before the filth left untouched. Abandoned again. The King forced himself from his throne, snarling at the gathering of blue creatures crouched in a group just beyond a hill of empty batteries. Useless sex-crazed beasts.

"Shut up!" He kicked and flung debris at them until they scattered, surprised to find them all hovering nearby within moments of retreat. "What is it? What? A limp cock detached from its body?" The King held a sneer on his face, cursing the things for interrupting his thoughts.

Among the loose detritus huddled a bundle of white. For a moment he wondered if winter had come a day early, but closer inspection revealed fur. He stared, still as the night, until the bundle shifted and revealed itself. Impossible wide eyes the colour of fresh earth and song, half hidden by drooping ears white and soft as a cloud. He had seen this thing before, this marvelous thing, in a ripped up storybook about a blonde woman on drugs climbing through a hole. A rabbit. A white rabbit. The King could hardly breathe. The rabbit moved again and horror struck him to the core. Such wondrous fur tainted with red, a frightening red, gleaming fresh in the sun. Injured?

The King spared not a moment. He crept away silently to avoid startling the wonder, hissing warnings to the blue beasts not to touch it again, then dove through the junk piles so familiar to him. A tiny harness. A soft rope. A hood with no jacket. The rabbit did not leave its place in the time he took to gather these things, so pure and out of place in this land of the filth. It had not the energy to struggle when he looped the harness around it, mystified by the softness of its fur. It stayed silent when the King swaddled it in the hood and cradled it to his chest, damaged leg protected by the cotton. It watched with eyes like the moon as the King tied the rope to its halter and then to the throne, curled into its makeshift shelter beneath the chair while the king lashed assorted bones and sticks to form a cage from the space under his seat. 

The harpies acted as harpies did. Full of expectations from the past, the male crooned and slid a hand along the kings back, only to be scolded with a vicious kick to the leg. He shrieked and scrambled backward, confused by the rage of his ruler.

"Get away!" The King growled, hunched in front of his damaged little wonder. "Stay the fuck away from it!"

Leaving no room for argument, the King lowered himself to lay in the dirt so he could observe the little thing. It stared back, impossibly small, impossibly fragile. The night began to fall, signaling the approach of the annual chill, and the King knew he could not budge for fear of the frost taking away his new little marvel. He would have to sleep on the ground, then, a consequence he accepted.

The hour grew late. The heat faded away. The night opened her eye and the King drifted to sleep with a rabbit in his thoughts. When he awoke, it was gone.

In the rabbits place slept a man, hair as white as snow.

 


	2. Steal The Heavens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have very little control here. The story just... Does what it wants.

The man slept for hours, chest barely moving. His shoulders were broad, well built, and The King guessed the rabbit boy would dwarf his height should they stand side by side.

He had never seen one like him before. No horns adorned his head, his skin lacked the harsh blue of the harpies, and The King knew from the flush on his cheeks that if he were to rest on his chest he would feel the rabbit man's heart beating. The King had no heartbeat; one of the few things he envied about the harpies was the life running through their bodies. The rabbit man also seemed to be fully intact. There was no bone exposed, no limb missing, his hair was thick and downy upon his head. The King wondered how something so whole and gentle had found its way to his kingdom of dirt and disrepair.

So occupied by his own thoughts was he that he didn't notice the man awaken until he spoke.

"I've been looking for you."

****************************

He had no recollection of his of his life or how he had gotten there, all he knew was that he had been searching for the ruler of the land for many, many years. The King processed this information for several seconds after the other spoke it. His expression was so earnest, filled with relief and he rushed to answer every question that was thrown at him while he sat beneath the throne. The rabbit man seemed to have eyes only for the skeletal monarch, caring not one single bit that he was trapped in the makeshift cage. The harness was far too small for his body, of course, seeming to have settled around his neck like an ornate collar. The King was suddenly glad for the soft rope; Not only because the material had no fear of causing harm to his awakened wonder, but because it would keep his rabbit from running away. He didn't want the rabbit to run, he had only just arrived and it would be cruel to take this new precious thing away.

The King realized then that the rabbit was waiting for an answer to a question left unheard, eyes never once straying from The King's face.

"What?"

"Your name. What is it?" The rabbit man seemed amused, his smile shining like a thousand stars dying at once and leaving The King feeling short of breath.

"I am The King."

His rabbit said nothing, still smiling expectantly. The fingers of his right hand- They looked cold; The King held back the sudden urge to hold and warm them- stroked the rope hanging by his side. As the seconds dragged on, his smile faded. The King resisted the need to search for that smile and stick it back on where it belonged.

"But... Your name can't just be 'The King." said the rabbit, confusion overtaking his lovely face.

"It can," came The King's response, struggling to tear his eyes from that pouty lower lip. "And it is."

"But that isn't right!"

In a flash, the notorious temper of the ruler returned, mouth curling into a sneer.

"It is if I say it is!" He snarled, yanking his makeshift circlet of bent spoons from his head then lashing out with a fist to smack it against the throne. "I am The King! My word makes law, those are the rules!"

The rabbit flinched, jerking backwards with eyes wide and round like saucers. The King realized what he had done and his anger drained away as quickly as it had come, face full of horror at himself. This was no harpy, no stupid beast to fight and fuck and scream. This was a full precious thing, alive and whole. He could not treat the rabbit like he did his creatures.

"It's okay, I'm sorry," The King hushed the rabbit man, hands out in a gesture of peace. "Look, I won't yell again, uh... What..."

He tried to salvage the previous conversation. "What's your name?"

"My name?" said the rabbit, brow furrowed. He relaxed minutely but maintained the extra few inches of distance. The King wished he was closer. "I don't know. I can't remember."

He decided not to point out the hypocrisy of bunny boy criticising his title while at the same time not having a name of his own.

"Well," The King declared in a booming voice, startling the rabbit again. He cursed himself internally and lowered it. "I own this kingdom and everything in it, and since you're in it, you're mine. That means I can name you."  
The rabbit seemed apprehensive but it was too late to protest, the greasy majesty was already in the process of concocting a suitable form of address for his companion.

Rabbit. Bunny. Rabbit man, bunny boy. He scratched his chin and spit into the dirt, examining the ground. Wonder. Precious. Soft. Warm. Little-No, not little anymore. He was larger than The King like that. Companion. Companion to the king. Co-King. Queen. Lord. Lady-

"Queen!" He clicked his bony fingers, smirking like the cat that got the cream.

"Queen..." repeated the rabbit in a deadpan voice. 

"Yes." The King was rather proud of himself, crossing his arms smugly while his companion worried the rope between his fingers.

"Maybe that isn't exactly right..." replied the rabbit kindly, chewing his lip. The monarch wanted to tell him to stop for fear he would hurt it. "But something like that?"

"What do you suggest then, Mr-" Think of a good insult, King. "Clever Face." Nailed it.

Rabbit man had the decency not to laugh, though his mouth did twitch with the effort of not smiling.

"How about..." He thought for a moment before his sweet little grin returned, baring little buck teeth. "Quinn? It's close, right?"

'I want to lick his teeth,' thought The King.

"It will do." He said abruptly, hunching his shoulders and sticking his tongue out at the rabbit. At Quinn. Quinn, quick as a flash, stuck his hand through the bars and grabbed the little pink tongue between his thumb and middle finger. The King screeched, smacking at his arm and flailing backwards. The sudden action sent him toppling over onto his back with the rage swelling up again. He drew in a lungful of air prepared to howl like a demon; The laugh that rang clear like a bell pierced his mind and popped his anger like a pin to a balloon. Against his will he found warmth flooding his chest, the snickering bunny producing the most lovely sound he had ever experienced.

'Quinn isn't such a bad name', he thought. In fact... He quite liked it.


End file.
